


Standing Still

by lauren3210



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Hospitalization, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5436167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/lauren3210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco hates a lot of things. But he thinks he might like a few things, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/gifts).



> Dear vaysh, I saw amnesia!fic in your likes, and my mind immediately latched onto it and wouldn’t let it go. Hopefully you’ll like this little set of drabbles.

The tinsel hangs from the curtain frame, its frayed ends lopsided. Draco glares at it, annoyed that it’s too far up for him to reach up and correct. Martha walks past him, and he turns his glare on her, annoyed that she won’t give him a wand to fix it. It’s lopsided and it’s old and frayed, and it’s _red,_ and Draco hates it.

“Cheer up, love,” Martha says. “The volunteers will be arriving soon. You always look forward to that, don’t you?”

Draco doesn’t stop glaring. He hates the volunteers, too. 

At least he thinks he does.

*****

Martha is busy trying to move everyone to the end of the room. She and Ravi have put a tree up in the corner, golden fairies fluttering busily between the branches, badly wrapped presents shoved underneath. Draco hates it. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns away. Maybe if he’s not looking, Martha won’t try to make him join in.

“Come on, love,” Martha says. “We’ll open some prezzies, and then we’ll have some dinner, hmm?” Draco glares at her, and she sighs. “Maybe you’ll be in a better mood once he arrives.”

Draco doesn’t think he will.

*****

The doors open to let the volunteers in, trays of food hovering in front of them. Draco has moved from his bed to his chair, shoved right into the corner. The tinsel above him waves pathetically. He glares up at it.

“He’s in a bit of a mood today,” he hears Martha whispering quietly. “Hasn’t said a word since he woke up this morning, all he’s done is glare at everyone.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” someone says, and then his curtain is being pulled back and his hiding place is found.

Draco glares up at shaggy black hair.

*****

The man, wearing jeans and trainers and glasses, sits down on the edge of Draco’s bed and sighs. “Not happy today?” His voice is carefully light, and full of pity, and Draco _hates_ it. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Draco doesn’t, because that would mean speaking, and he doesn’t want to talk to the man he’s pretty sure he hates. He glares up at the tinsel in answer. The man pulls out his wand and points it upwards. The tinsel turns from red to green, and it sits perfectly straight.

And Draco… doesn’t hate that.

*****

A tray is placed on his bedside table, plate piled high with turkey and stuffing, roasted potatoes, sausages wrapped in bacon, cranberry sauce and gravy. Draco ignores it. From the corner of his eye, he watches the man watch him. It feels… comfortable, in a way that doesn’t make sense.

The man gets up, takes the plate and walks away. _I think I hate you,_ Draco thinks, eyes on the man’s back.

When the man comes back, he places a small dish in front of Draco. Creme Brulee.

Draco doesn’t hate that. It’s his favourite dessert. He thinks.

*****

Martha and Ravi are organising party games at the far end of the room. Simon is busy ripping wrapping paper from a big box. The paper is bright red with dancing holly leaves on it. The layer beneath that is adorned with Christmas trees. Draco glares at the box, then glares at all the people cheering.

That’s not what presents are supposed to look like.

“I’ve brought you a present,” the man says, handing it to him. 

The wrapping paper is dark green and shiny, tucked perfectly at the corners. The ribbon is glittery silver.

Draco thinks he likes it.

*****

“Are you sure you don’t want to come and join in, Draco?” Martha says.

Draco glares up at her, then looks back down at the present in his hands.

“I think we’ll stay here a bit longer,” the man says.

Draco ignores them both, turns the present over in his hands.

“Do you need help?”

Draco glares at the man, who smiles a little at him.

“Of course you don’t, sorry.”

He doesn’t look sorry; he looks _pleased._ Draco stares at him suspiciously. His eyes are the same colour as the wrapping paper, as the tinsel.

Draco quite likes that.

*****

The sounds of the party at the other end of the room are loud and irritating. Draco scowls around the corner of his curtain. The man leans forward and pulls it closed. Draco scowls at him instead, even though he thinks he might be grateful.

He turns his attention back to his present. The ribbon is slippery between his fingers; he places it on his bedside table. He pulls at the wrapping paper, taking it all off in one sheet.

The present inside is a game; solve the Arithmancy puzzles before the time runs out.

Draco thinks he likes Arithmancy.

*****

The man sets the game up on a table between them. “I had to get a few Arithmancy lessons from Hermione,” he says, frowning down at the instructions. “But I’ll probably still be completely useless at this.”

Draco turns the little plastic hourglass over, and begins looking at the puzzles. The man has a quill and some parchment balanced on his knee. Draco doesn’t need them; he can solve them in his head easily.

He wins the round, and the man laughs around a dramatic sigh. “Yep, you beat me. I bet you like that.”

And Draco thinks he does.

*****

The party is winding down, volunteers picking up the scraps of wrapping paper strewn all over the floor. Draco beat the man six times at the game.

“Oh look at that!” Martha says. “You made him smile.”

Draco glares at her. Then he looks at the man. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Then, “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Harry’s green eyes are wet, but his smile is big. “Merry Christmas, Draco,” he says, and presses a kiss to Draco’s forehead.

 _I used to hate you,_ Draco thinks, watching Harry walk away. _But now I think I like you._

END.


End file.
